The Trials of Erestor
by Lydwina Marie
Summary: Erestor is this cool Elf who is universally acclaimed for his legendary wisdom and, basically, brilliance. But inside of this perfect life, the perfection that is expected surprisingly does not exist. Rated (is it?) for twin abuse of Erestor's poetry book.


**The Trials of Erestor**

Lydwina Marie

Erestor strode down the long hallway deliberately, on his way to a private council in Lord Elrond's chambers. He followed the corridor automatically, his mind occupied in forming ideas of what he had been summoned to discuss. The latest prank of the twins? Surely not. His lips curved in a slight smile. Unless the cook had taken seriously ill from being locked in the cellar, there could be no reason for Elrond to bring the episode up again.

The Elf glanced sideways out the window, gazing upon a typical winter's day: dismal, grey, and altogether unpoetic.

 _Poetry._

His smile lengthened.

 _Poetry._

It expanded.

 _Ah..._

 _Poetry._

He sighed dreamily, then, as a sudden snort reached his ears, straightened abruptly. He hadn't realised that he'd been speaking aloud until the untimely gasp betrayed the presence of Imladris' foremost terrors: Elladan and Elrohir. He groaned loudly.

"Come out of there, you rats!" he fumed, reaching the doorway across from him in two lengthy strides. As his hands flew out to grab the pointy ear of a black-haired Elfling, there was a shrieked warning, a fervent "Erestor's lungs!" – he gaped – and a flurry as two diminutive figures barrelled past him into the safety of one of Imladris' many hallways.

Erestor leaned against the post to catch his breath. Then again he grinned. _They're gone now, so... where was I?_

To return to the dreamy state required for aspiring poets, he repeated the word 'Poetry' several times, an abstracted look in his eyes. Oh! the word! What fantastical realms it opened to his imagination!

His eyes returned to the window. No longer did the day seem bleak and dismal: the driven snow, pure as crystals, falling at the feet of the majestic pines ascending the hills: a lonely day for one whose thoughts were unpreoccupied, perhaps, but not for the mind of a poet.

Oh no. _Not_ for a poet.

Erestor felt about in his voluminous robes, his actions becoming frenzied and his face harassed as time wore on. He was about to let out a yell that would have split Arda asunder when at last his desperate search yielded fruit.

He withdrew his hand from his pocket, lowering his eyes to the object he held.

His poetry book.

Erestor would have loved this book as his right hand had he thought any article in Middle-earth was worth loving as his right hand.

He opened the book tenderly. _On my maiden's eyes_ , he read. _On the library_ – ah, yes, that had been a good one. _On my lord's noble brow_ – that had been fun. He simply had to make sure Elrond never saw it.

At last Erestor found a blank page, and, producing his quill with a flourish, began to write purposefully.

 _The flurries of snow_

 _in my eyes rant and blow –_

No, no. Meter, Erestor, meter. He tried again.

 _The flurrying snow_

 _does gleam and glow –_

He frowned. Generally he didn't have trouble writing poetry, but any day on which the twins predominantly featured was bound to be a bad day.

 _The whispering crystals_

 _in my ears whispers._

 _There is an old twister_

 _upon my red blister._

Half an hour later, Erestor threw down his book in frustration. He simply could not get it right! It _had_ to be the twins, there was no other explanation. Forgetting his book, the Elf strode down the hallway and into his chambers, slamming the door with a jerk.

A few seconds following, there was a cautious whisper. "El? Is he gone?"

There was a small commotion as Elladan and Elrohir clambered out from behind the curtains. Elrohir stumbled as he swung his leg over the side of the window seat, letting out a shriek as he clutched desperately at the air to save himself. His groping fingers tangled in the light curtain; he hung precariously for a moment, then crashed to the floor, swathed in flowery material.

"Shut up!" Elladan hissed. "Come on. He left his book – what good fortune!"

His brother's voice came as though he stood in Utumno and Elladan upon the earth. "Blasted bulbs, El, I can't! I'm stuck!"

Elladan let out a resigned sigh before crouching down to untangle his brother, muttering unintelligible obscenities that, despite his being an experienced elfling growing up amongst seasoned warriors, he should not have known. Elrohir stumbled forth at length, sneezing profusely into his hands.

"I have it!" Elladan hissed victoriously, flashing Erestor's book before his brother's eyes. "We're free! No more lessons!"

"What?" Elrohir gazed at his twin in confusion. "No more lessons? But we've got to find Glorfindel for history in a few minutes. And then there's astronomy this evening. Are you daft?"

"No, listen, Ro! I don't mind astronomy, but I mean that we can get out of lessons where Erestor teaches, _just with this._ " He produced the volume again for enlightenment.

Elrohir looked blank for a second, then his face brightened. "Erestor's poetry book!" An evil gleam came into his dark eyes. "Erestor writes poetry. _Terrible_ poetry." He giggled as the two scampered off down the hallway, their heads full of scheming plots.

 **A/N:** Honestly, please tell me what you think. I'm not sure about this at all, I have a little more written - it was originally intended to just be a little ficlet, but I broke off suddenly a while ago and I have no idea what my ideas were. :) Should I leave it like this? Please review!


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